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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25284676">small offerings and steady hands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/headlong/pseuds/headlong'>headlong</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A3! (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Alcohol, Developing Relationship, M/M, Pre-Slash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:48:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25284676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/headlong/pseuds/headlong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things the members of the Mankai Repair Club fix for others; and one thing, of their own, which doesn't need fixing at all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Utsuki Chikage/Takato Tasuku</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A3! Rare Pairs Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>small offerings and steady hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this was originally going to be for the final day of rarepair week, but i finished it early... and i think this hits enough of the "restless night" prompt for day 4 that it probably counts. anyway please stan mankai repair club</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>one.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage’s hands relax a little on the wheel as he pulls into the Mankai parking lot, the sight of home easing a tension he hadn’t even realised he was carrying. Working overtime is one thing in the summer months, when he sometimes gets lucky, and it’s still light out by the time he finishes; but in October, with a definite chill in the air and his journey home through a pitch-black peak hour, it’s draining even for him. And his night is really just beginning, because after this he still has Spring Troupe practice, and a tutoring session with Tenma, and posts to write for both the Mankai and Curryiously Spicy blogs. And he needs to find some time in between all that to heat up the dinner Izumi’s left for him in the fridge, because he’d promised to critique a new blend of spices she’d wanted to try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His car’s headlights sweep dispassionately over the parking lot, illuminating the familiar silhouettes of his dormmates’ cars. Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>parking lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a little on the generous side. It’s not a formal garage area as much as it is an unused parcel of land behind the dorm, where the troupe’s drivers park because there’s nowhere else. Which is less than ideal, but the price of parking on Veludo Way proper is exorbitant, Sakyo has stubbornly refused to fork out for the cost of permits, and Chikage isn’t bothered enough by the status quo to divert any of his salary to fixing it. A place to park is a place to park.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he catches a flash of movement in his peripheral vision as he turns, which is unusual. When he stops to observe it, there’s a large, dark shape by one of the cars, edges fuzzy in the night. Perhaps ominous, but part of Chikage isn’t surprised; rumour has it that the lot is haunted, although he’s not sure where that rumour started, or even who the place is supposed to be haunted </span>
  <em>
    <span>by,</span>
  </em>
  <span> except perhaps the spectre of Chigasaki on his late-night snack runs. And 8pm seems on the early side for any kind of paranormal activity, roommate-related or otherwise. But there has to be a grain of truth in that piece of gossip, something real it’s founded on, and it can’t hurt to be a little wary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He parks begrudgingly in the space furthest from the building – he and Chigasaki are having an unspoken turf war over the nicest parking spot, joined occasionally and unknowingly by Sakyo, that rests entirely on which of them gets home first – and flicks off his headlights. When he glances back towards the direction of the shadow, it’s blocked by the dark masses of the other cars. But he can still tell it’s there: without the low hum of his engine, he can hear the faint noises the phantom is making. Soft sounds of metal on metal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Mankai lot is bordered by an old gate, one that only responds to the press of a remote button about a quarter of the time, but it’s a joke in terms of security. Anyone could get in, if they knew where the lot was and didn’t mind a little climbing. And there are no lights or surveillance cameras: easy pickings for a skilled car thief, or else an easy pathway into the dorm proper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage assesses the situation one more time, readying himself to move. There’s no way this ghost didn’t see him pull in, but he might still have the element of surprise on his side, if he doesn’t squander it. So he gets out of the car as quietly as he can. It’s chillier than he expected out, but he barely lets himself notice that detail. Instead he slips into a half-crouch, making sure to keep his body low and his stance loose, and creeps around towards the dorm. His breath is a faint whisper in the blue darkness, as silent as the cars he passes. And when he’s finally close enough to the intruder, he takes out his phone and flicks on the torch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But all it illuminates is Tasuku, holding his own torch in one hand and covering his eyes with the other, straightening up from his position by Chigasaki’s hatchback. And while that’s a little odd, it’s also entirely harmless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening,” Chikage says, straightening up and lowering his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku stops covering his face, but he still has one eye closed, and is squinting with the other. “Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to have blinded you like that. It’s hard to be too careful about these things sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fine, Utsuki. I could see you better than you could see me. If anyone should apologise here, it should be me for startling you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s call ourselves even, an apology for an apology, and leave things at that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku nods, solemn and without irony, and blinks himself back to normalcy. “All right. One question, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s hear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you think I was the parking lot ghost?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that,” Chikage says, as if his first thought on seeing an unfamiliar shape on dormitory grounds had really been </span>
  <em>
    <span>phantom.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I wonder if there’s room in the troupe’s budget to install lights here. To help dispel that rumour, if nothing else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’d be worth mentioning to Matsukawa or Furuichi. I can hardly see anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t mind my asking, what is it you’re trying to see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chigasaki told me one of his tires went flat on his way home, so I’m taking a look. He also said he’d have asked you instead, but you were stuck working overtime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he also tell you I would have refused?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He left that part out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why am I not surprised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chigasaki,” Tasuku says; and, although his tone is as gruff as usual, it doesn’t actually sound like a complaint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chigasaki,” Chikage agrees. “Well, even though I’d have started out with a refusal, I’d probably have helped him in the end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only probably?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would depend how nicely he asked. Still, I should apologise for my unscrupulous junior’s behaviour. Or at least thank you for doing my work for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it. He’s asked me for worse before, and at least I don’t mind things like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to lie to protect his honour, Tasuku. Especially not to me. I know you’re fond of machines, but nobody enjoys changing tires.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… maybe that’s true. But he said I could take a look at his engine as payment, so long as I don’t do anything to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It occurs to Chikage, then, that nothing’s compelling him to be out here: making small talk with a dormmate he doesn’t have much to do with, unless they’re working together to fix something, in the cold and the dark, and in a place devoid of atmosphere. Not when Spring Troupe practice starts in ten minutes, and he’s still in his suit. But something makes him want to linger regardless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like motors?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m not that interested in cars, to be honest. But I used to ride a motorbike for a while, and I learned a lot from tinkering with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first impulse is to tease Tasuku about the unexpectedly delinquent image that conjures up, so at odds with his sensible personality, but it’s drowned out by the part of Chikage that wants to know: “What kind of bike?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Zusuki. I had her at the dorm for a while, but I didn’t ride enough to justify keeping her here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a shame. I’d have liked to see how it drove.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku’s expression shifts a little. “You can ride?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can. Even I went through a rebellious bad-boy phase when I was younger, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A crease forms between Tasuku’s eyebrows as he thinks. And it’s the truth, roughly. Even though Chikage had learned how to ride a motorbike in another country, under another name, he had still done it because he had been younger and angrier. Because he had been a stupid teenager, at an age where having a tight-knit family had felt more like a chokehold than a comfort. And he had needed a way to get away from home somehow, and he had wanted to ruffle some feathers doing it, so he’d pooled his savings – bits and pieces from part-time jobs, months and months of storing up what had been left after expenses – and gone to buy a bike. A second-hand piece of junk he didn’t realise until later he’d been overcharged for, but it had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>his. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And it had produced the intended result. Had given him some petty satisfaction, that August had nagged him about making sure to drive safely; that December, the same as ever, had complained about the noise of the engine waking him up. In hindsight and with the wisdom of adulthood, Chikage can tell that the bike had never been a serious point of disagreement. But it had pleased the ugliest, most teenage part of him at the time, until one day it had stopped feeling fun and started feeling stupid; and when the three of them had packed up and moved across the continent a year later, he had left his bike behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which has nothing to do with Tasuku, of course. Except that Chikage wants to know if he believes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that’s true,” Tasuku says at last, brow still furrowed, “I’ve gotten you all wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s as easy as ever for Chikage to stifle his disappointment. “Well, the part about teenage rebellion was more or less a joke. But I do know how to ride a bike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. Well, I think the others will be pleased to hear it. You should join us the next time we go somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s an interesting suggestion, but I’m retired. I’ve left my delinquent days behind me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, but it’s a standing offer. You don’t have to answer right away. And we probably won’t do anything until semester’s over, and Hyodo’s free again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the middle of winter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the middle of winter,” Tasuku says, not sounding particularly bothered by the prospect. “Although we’ll need to figure out where. Fushimi’s been saying he wants to see the mountains, but we’ll have to save that for another time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, Chikage doesn’t miss his bike all that often. It’s associated with such a particular time in his life, such a particular version of himself, that he’s still trying to let himself come to terms with. And he had learned to ride in a district that was nothing like Veludo Way, and even less like the mountains; a dingy industrial area in a grey city, narrow streets twisting between looming warehouses, and no clear lines of sight, unless he had bothered driving out to the highway. And even then, the horizon had never been nearly far enough. But, hearing Tasuku talk about the promise of a group motorbike trip through the countryside, in late spring or early summer, riding for the joy of it and not the anger: he does miss it a little, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he has places to be, and even though he’s maybe a three-minute walk from any of them, every one of those places feels a million miles from here. Chikage takes a step back. “As pleasant as this has been, I should go. I have a long night ahead of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem.” Tasuku squats back down to be level with Chigasaki’s wheels, balancing his phone torch-up on his knee. Lit from below, in the unflatteringly harsh white light, he looks every bit the phantom of the Mankai parking lot. “That said, you’ll see Chigasaki before I do. Can you tell him I’m done changing his tire? And that I’ll leave his keys on the counter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Utsuki.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, all right. I’ll have mercy on the both of you.” Chikage tucks his smile away with a turn of his head. “Good evening, Tasuku.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>two.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Homare corners him in the lounge a little before dinner, with Izumi knocking around the kitchen and the thick scent of curry in the air. Chikage is ensconced at the dining table, observing her while pretending not to be, when someone takes the seat opposite him; and of all the people he expected to see when he glances up, Hisoka’s roommate is right near the bottom of the list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that Homare is </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hisoka’s roommate, or anything. They do have a relationship of their own these days. Because sometimes Homare offers him samples of particularly bitter teas, or asks for his opinions on poetry in other languages, or tries to coax him into being his plus-one to an art gallery or poetry reading or orchestral performance. But they aren’t particularly close; and, always, the spectre of Hisoka manages to make itself felt between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chikage! Good evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening. Busy day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Insofar as a poet’s craft requires him to always be busy, yes. But I confess, I’ve found it rather difficult to settle myself and compose today, even though I received a particularly dizzying burst of inspiration this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, I don’t have a creative bone in my body. So I won’t pretend to understand, but I can see how that would be difficult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense! I’m quite certain you must have a talent for some art form or another; you merely haven’t stumbled across your medium of choice yet. But I digress. In truth, I sought you out this evening because I thought you might be able to help me with something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. I can’t make any promises, but I can certainly try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First, however. Might you have seen Tasuku recently?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage can’t quite keep himself from frowning. “I haven’t, no. But why are you asking me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you both inhabit this dormitory, of course. It’s entirely possible that the pair of you might have crossed paths this evening where he and I did not. Although, in the interest of honesty, I also ask because you seem to be friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are</span>
  </em>
  <span> they? He isn’t particularly concerned with labelling any of his relationships, especially when most of his dormmates walk such a fine line between friend and family. And even if Chikage works backwards, strikes out all the people he knows Tasuku can’t be compared to, that still doesn’t leave him with an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More or less,” he says, and then, “Isn’t today the day he decided to visit his parents? He told me his brother has Thursdays off this month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Homare sizes him up. It’s a little concerning to be on the other end of that, considering how his thought processes tend to be inscrutable at best; but it’s not long before his expression relaxes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it is. I suppose it must have slipped my mind for one reason or another. But it’s no matter, not in the scheme of things. I suspect you’ll do just as well. Provided you don’t have any other pressing business at the moment, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m free until dinner. Although I can’t speak for the rest of the night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can assure you, it most certainly won’t take that long. But since we’ve now established your availability: would you happen to have any experience with fixing any kind of clockwork?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in particular, but I can at least take a look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful! All right, then, what do you make of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Homare reaches into one of the pockets of his waistcoat, and roots around in it for a moment. Then he retrieves an old bronze watch, like something out of an antique store, dangling heavily at the end of a long chain, and passes it across.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage expects the metal to be cold to the touch, unpleasant against his hands. But it’s warm from being tucked away against the heat of Homare’s body; an unasked-for intimacy. He makes himself tear his eyes away from the engraving carved into the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s a watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s a watch, Chikage. I was hoping you might be able to repair it or, failing that, to provide me with some insight on the matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One question first. You came here looking for Tasuku, originally. Has he repaired it for you before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed. It’s an old watch, a family heirloom, and it stops quite regularly. Tasuku usually has to tune it up once every few months, at the least. But that’s simply the price of keeping it close, and one I can’t say I terribly mind paying. If I’m being frank, before I joined Winter Troupe, I had thought it was broken for good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage turns the watch over. It strikes him, suddenly, how small the machinery inside must be; that Tasuku, with his large, blunt hands, is capable of fixing something so delicate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s that important to you, then I shouldn’t risk it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense. I trust you perfectly, and you come with Tasuku’s recommendation as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate that, Homare, really. But I’d also suggest you wait for Tasuku to return.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Homare frowns at him, more thoughtful than angry. Chikage meets his gaze with neutral eyes, not challenging, but not yielding either. And whatever it is that Homare sees there must make him decide to fold, because he ultimately just hums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I’ll bow to your expertise in this area, then. Might I have my watch back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage hands it over, and it disappears back into Homare’s breast pocket. Part of him is glad to be rid of the thing, even though another part of him is annoyed by his failure, and a third part can’t stop thinking about how delicate the machinery inside must be. But the phantom sensation of the metal lingers against his skin, an imagined chill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, though, he manages to banish the incident from his mind for the rest of the evening. Not that he forgets about it entirely, or that his feelings about letting Homare down are simple enough that they can be folded away; but it’s a tiny blip on the radar among Izumi’s excellent seafood curry, his usual tutoring session with Tenma going better than expected, and the short-notice street act he and Chigasaki get dragged into by Sakuya, which culminates in staging a dramatic shootout across opposite sides of Veludo Way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the night is young – at least by his standards – by the time the three of them get back to the dorm. Sakuya peels off immediately, claiming that he needs to get ready before tonight’s leaders’ meeting; Chigasaki beelines for the dining table when he spots Taichi and Citron playing a game on their phones; and Chikage, alone, heads back to his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The courtyard is cool and quiet when he steps outside, but it’s not without life. The noise of the main room is still at his back, flowers wave from the garden beds, and a group of Summer Troupe members are having some kind of clandestine meeting in the second-floor walkway, conversing in harsh whispers; and Tasuku is standing outside the door of room 103, arms crossed over his chest, almost like he’s expecting someone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage pulls himself up short, stopping about a metre away. Tasuku’s not dressed all that warmly, so he either hasn’t been waiting long, or isn’t expecting to wait much longer. His calm, dark eyes lock onto Chikage immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tasuku. Hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back from your visit already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku half-shrugs. “My parents sleep early, and my brother had to get home to his wife. Besides, I was there half the afternoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I take it things went well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well enough. I had to stop my mother sending me home with enough leftovers to feed Winter Troupe for a month, though. She kept asking after them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be fair, I don’t think anyone in Winter Troupe would have objected. What did you have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She always makes my favourite when I come over. Even though the season’s all wrong, and even though I keep telling her she doesn’t have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s family for you, though, isn’t it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku’s looking at him like he might have said something revealing. Chikage, suddenly not convinced he somehow hasn’t, changes the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still. It’s a little unexpected to find you here, especially this late. Did you need something from me, or was it Chigasaki you’re after?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s you. And I don’t need something, exactly. But I’d still like to borrow you for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it something important’s broken again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the wrong thing to say. Not because Tasuku reacts poorly to it, because he doesn’t really react at all; but because Chikage’s still trying to shed the learned reflex of closing doors before they even have the chance to open. An old habit from an old life, and a deep one. And part of him wishes Tasuku would do him the favour of looking disappointed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arisugawa told me his watch stopped working. I’m about to fix it, and I was wondering if you’d like to come along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Chikage hadn’t been knocked a little off-centre by tonight’s events, in a thousand tiny ways, he would already have been actively anticipating that. As it is, he mostly just finds himself unsurprised. But that’s still enough to make him lapse into a silence that’s not at all like himself. And Tasuku must take that for reluctance, because he keeps talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I thought maybe I could teach you to mend it. So Arisugawa doesn’t have to wait if it breaks again when I’m out. Of course, you don’t have to. It was just an idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’ll come with. That said, I’ve just gotten home, so would you mind giving me five minutes to get organised? I can meet you upstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine. I’ll be waiting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku tosses him half a wave and trudges off. Chikage returns it, then fishes for his keys and lets himself into his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights are off, as expected, but he doesn’t move to switch them on. Instead he stands in the dark for a moment, letting it seep into him. And then, once he can’t see anything, once he’s adjusted enough that his room has resolved itself into a collection of indistinct outlines and not a perfect lightless absence, he finally lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still without turning the lights on, he picks his way over to his suitcase. He keeps a package of bottled water next to it, for emergencies as much as convenience, and he pulls a single bottle out of the plastic. The liquid inside is only visible as a dull shine, in the little light seeping in from the gap in the curtains. Even though it’s tepid, he drains it in a few long pulls. Then he pads over to drop the bottle in the cardboard box he and Chigasaki use to collect recycling, and heads back out, already feeling more human.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night air feels chillier than he remembers it, but he doesn’t plan to be exposed for long. He takes the stairs at a leisurely pace, footsteps echoing ahead of him, delicate but loud. By the time he reaches the second floor, the cluster of Summer Troupers has already departed, scattered on the wind, either back in their rooms or off to who knows where. But Azuma and Guy are out on their side of the walkway, drinking under the moon, and Azuma watches him calmly as he steps over to room 204.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku lets him in quietly when he knocks, without any kind of greeting; there’s nothing really to be said. His host gestures him towards the couch, and Chikage perches lightly on the edge. But Tasuku doesn’t sit, instead pacing over to the other side of the room and starting to dig through his things, so Chikage gives into the urge to look around. He’s almost never in here, but the place seems more or less just as he remembers it. The only notable exception is that the pocketwatch is already resting on the coffee table, awaiting their arrival. And there’s a desk lamp looming over it, trapping it under warm yellow light, the bronze burnished into a glowing gold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the door closed, and the only sound coming from Tasuku’s rummaging, it occurs to Chikage that things are eerily quiet in here. Maybe his standards have been skewed by living with someone who’s awake and gaming at all hours of the night, but still. It’s not surprising to find Tsumugi absent, considering Sakuya had shot off to a leaders’ meeting after their street act, and those can often stretch on for an hour or more; but there’s another profound absence, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Homare isn’t here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I know it’s his watch, but I still have to kick him out when I repair it. I can’t concentrate otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That seems reasonable enough. But part of Chikage would welcome Homare’s presence, as much as it might throw things off, if it meant that he and Tasuku weren’t alone together. Not that it means anything, or that it necessarily means anything to Tasuku right now in particular; but they usually interact in common spaces, like outside or in the lounge, and he’s not sure what set of expectations he’s supposed to be working on now that they aren’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Utsuki?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although this is probably a perfectly ordinary occurrence for Tasuku, who’s finally emerged from doing whatever it was he was doing, and is looking at him with steady eyes. Chikage takes a slow, deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. My mind wandered for a moment there. But please – show me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>three.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a cool Saturday morning, around midway through autumn. The air is crisp in Chikage’s throat, the breeze bears the smell of the bonfire some of the Summer and Autumn members are building out back in the parking lot, and the view from the balcony shows Veludo Way in shades of orange and grey and gold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he particularly has the time to admire it. Or that he has the eyes to, between the job he’s supposed to be doing, and the companion he’s brought along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Earlier this week, Matsukawa had asked him to take a look at the dorm’s outside lights whenever he was free. According to their manager, a couple of the courtyard lights had burnt out recently, there’s a globe on the balcony which has started to flicker, and they should all be traded for newer, more energy-efficient models where possible. A banal chore, but worthwhile. And not one he had been opposed to doing, especially if it let him use that favour to push for real lighting in the parking lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Chikage had gone around earlier in the week and taken stock of the lights that needed changing, and talked that over with Sakyo, and gone to buy the necessary bulbs this morning. (Unfortunately they’ll need a real electrician to take care of the parking lights, but at least he’s managed to get the ball rolling.) And he had invited Tasuku along for the actual process, because – well. Because many hands make for easy work, and he can take care of this job twice as fast. Or because he knows Tasuku likes to fix things, even though changing out lightbulbs barely counts, and isn’t a challenge of any kind. Or because the silence between them is companionable, these days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dangerous thoughts to be having. But Chikage lets himself indulge in them, and in watching the tense and release of Tasuku’s arms under his rolled-up sleeves as he sets down the stepladder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are five lights on the balcony, which they’ve elected to leave for last. The reasoning was that, unlike all the lights they’ve checked so far, they’re not in arm’s reach; hence the ladder. Chikage leans gently against it, pretends not to pay attention to Tasuku tugging his sleeves back into place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to do these ones, or should I? Not that I’ve been counting, but our tallies are about even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, in that case, I may as well make use of the ladder you carried up here. Can you get the new globes ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku fetches a fresh lightbulb, and Chikage climbs. When he’s high up enough that he can reach his goal without stretching, braced against the top of the stepladder, Tasuku’s head is almost level with his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage appraises the first of the lights from his new vantage point. He’d taken note of the ornamental fixtures before, but up close, he hadn’t quite realised how needlessly complex they actually are. The annoying part is going to be removing the glass casing around the bulbs themselves, especially since he needs both hands to balance everything else. He gently works the first case loose, ignoring all the dirt and dust that’s collected on it, but also makes a note to tell Izumi that they need cleaning. Setting it down, he unscrews the globe inside and passes both it and the case to Tasuku. Their fingers brush when Tasuku hands him a new bulb in exchange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Case,” Chikage says, once he’s successfully changed it out. But although he waits a good few seconds, no case is forthcoming; and when he looks down at his assistant, it’s to find him deep in thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tasuku. Pass me the casing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku starts, but he does just that. Focusing his attention on replacing the case, eyes fixed on the junction of metal and glass, Chikage throws his next question out, aiming for nonchalant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about so intently?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s fine. I’m not going to press it out of you. But it’s not like you to be this spaced out, either. Help me move the ladder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku nods. When Chikage climbs down, they take it over to beneath the second light fixture. Then he climbs up again, and Tasuku blows out a heavy breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really know how to begin. It’s frivolous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not everything you say to me needs to have a purpose, you know. Globe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Globe.” Tasuku passes it up. “I know. But if I can be blunt, you’re a little…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfrivolous?” Chikage says drily, screwing the bulb in with a sharp twist. “Unpleasant? Intolerant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean any of those. I meant that you don’t seem like someone who talks if there’s no need to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You strike me as being the same, though. So you may as well say what’s on your mind, and let me decide if I want to speak or not. Case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Case. All right, fine. Then can I ask you something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I ran into you in the parking lot, last month. And we talked about motorbikes. Were you really joking about having a rebellious phase?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that what you’ve been brooding about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t been </span>
  <em>
    <span>brooding,</span></em><span>” Tasuku says, in a voice that suggests he very much has. “But I shot the idea down so fast. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised I shouldn’t have. Because I don’t know enough about you to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Chikage says. “Ladder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ladder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They move to beneath the third light, and set the ladder down onto the tiles. Chikage climbs. The top of Tasuku’s head is a dark blur, below and to his right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was your thought process?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About my rebellious phase. Globe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Globe. Calling it a thought process might be exaggerating, because there wasn’t that much to it. But you’ve changed a lot since joining Spring Troupe. So you probably changed even more between your teens and twenties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s an interesting line of reasoning. But Hisoka would tell you that I’ve always been the same, deep down, no matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tsumugi would say the same about me. That doesn’t mean he’s right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A rare break in solidarity for the childhood-friend duo?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku snorts. “Not that rare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looking at the two of you, though, it certainly seems so. Case?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The third light fixture is somehow even dirtier than the first; it leaves dark smears on the skin of his palm. Chikage wipes his hand discreetly on the side of the ladder, crosses his arms on its top rung. Looks down at Tasuku properly. “Enough about me, though. What were your terrible teenage years like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ordinary, I think. I mostly just fought with my parents about things that didn’t matter. And I fought with Tsumugi and my brother sometimes, too. Though we’re all fine now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, strangely, it sounds like they actually are. Even though the two of them are fairly close in age, it’s strange to consider that they would have been going through the same growing pains around the same time. Tasuku, with his normal upbringing, and his normal family and his normal childhood friend, already dreaming of becoming an actor; and Chikage, living in a warehouse halfway across the globe, with nothing except two boys just as young and fallible as him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” he says. “Ladder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s do it. Ladder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But just then, before he can even dismount, Chikage hears the balcony door swing open behind him. He raises his voice to address the newcomer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’ve come to hover, Matsukawa, we aren’t done yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s not Matsukawa who responds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you two are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, it’s Azuma who steps out onto the balcony, drawing Chikage’s attention. He’s dressed a little too warm for this early in the season, in a thick winter coat, hands in his pockets and chin tucked into his chest. But he looks pleased to have found them, even by the standards of a man who’s always smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku speaks first; and Chikage, at a strange loose end, and well aware of their friendship, is happy to defer to him. “You were looking for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm-hmm. I was hoping the two of you might help me fix something. But I can see you’re in the middle of an important job, so I don’t mind waiting until you’re done to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage dusts off his hands once more, for good measure rather than in any hope of cleaning off the grime, and heads back down the stepladder. If they’re going to have a conversation, he’d rather have it on the same level. “There’s no need. We’re about halfway done here, and I wouldn’t mind taking a break. So long as that’s all right with Tasuku.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine by me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then. How to begin.” Azuma frowns, although it’s so delicate it’s almost imperceptible. “By getting to the point, I suppose, although it feels strange not to lead into it. But to be honest, I think… I’m afraid I’ve offended Sakyo, somehow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shouldn’t feel electric when Chikage glances at Tasuku, and finds him looking back. Not in general, and definitely not now, with Azuma appealing to them for help. But it’s a little warm, regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were drinking together the other night, and I think I made an unfortunate comment of some kind.” Azuma’s mouth twitches ruefully. “The particulars don’t really matter. He took it personally, I think, and I haven’t seen much of him since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage’s respect for discretion wars with the fact that, if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> to help Azuma, it’s more important for them to be fully informed than for him to be able to conceal something that might be embarrassing. But Tasuku’s the one who understands Azuma’s boundaries, here; and thankfully he jumps in to take the lead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why are you asking us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azuma smiles serenely. “You’re the troupe’s brilliant Repair Club, aren’t you? You two can fix anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So long as it’s mechanical,” Chikage says. “My wheelhouse covers things like cars or televisions or appliances. Mediating relationships is a little beyond the usual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku comes in to back him up again. “He’s right. And I don’t know why you’d pick me, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, well. It’s because you’ve helped me with this kind of thing before, Tasuku.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku’s eyes cut sharply away. “That was different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not particularly,” Azuma says, mild as anything. “And I’m asking you to help me out again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally, Chikage doesn’t mind the fact that the other members of Mankai have longer histories with each other than they do with him. It’s just a consequence of… well, of everything, and he tries not to let it be an obstacle in his relationships. But it’s hard to shake the sense that he’s a third wheel here, spinning uselessly while they talk one to one, entirely out of sync. He clears his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was there anything in particular you wanted from me, or was this a job for Tasuku?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it definitely, despite how neutrally he tries to frame that, comes out sounding a little jealous. Azuma raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t call him on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two heads are better than one, aren’t they? I trust your judgment as well, Chikage. And your ability to work together. So, will you take on my request?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku looks at Chikage. Chikage looks at Tasuku. The autumn wind cuts between them, carrying the far-off scent of woodsmoke. And Tasuku says, “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah… thank goodness.” Azuma smiles in relief. “I thought you’d agree, but it’s good to hear it for sure. And I’m glad to know I have you two on the case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage: “You understand we can’t promise you anything, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do. But all I’m asking you to do here is try, and I’m grateful for that much. So I’ll look forward to hearing your updates, and… thank you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azuma goes back into the dorm, closing the door gently behind him. Chikage waits until the sound of his footsteps has receded, counts to ten just to be certain, and then says, “Don’t you think there’s something he’s not telling us? Aside from the obvious, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably. He’s not always open about these things. But… I’m still glad he came and asked for help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to pry,” Chikage says, and he really doesn’t want to. Not when he’s this unsure about what he might find, and the consequences of finding it. “But he clearly trusts you a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re…” Tasuku frowns a little, clearly fumbling for the words. “We’re friends, and we’re in the same troupe. And he’s someone I want to go on acting with. But even beyond that, he’s someone who matters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, look, it’s not like that. Back when we starred in Nocturnality together, I helped him with some things. It’s hard to go through that kind of process and not end up mattering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And were any of those things similar to what he’s asking of you now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. Except that they were his problems, and I want to keep being someone who can help him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku’s always so transparent, so straightforwardly good-hearted. Chikage makes himself strike out toward more solid ground. “Actually, I saw that play during its initial run. Chigasaki got me a ticket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? I guess you would have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought it was very good,” he says, as if he had been paying any attention to Tasuku at the time. “And very Winter Troupe. Melancholy, but not miserable for its own sake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks. We worked hard to pull it together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could tell. Still, though, that production was striking. It might be fun to act in a tragedy like that sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you a fan of tragedies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have strong feelings on them, but it’d be an interesting change of pace. I’m sure I’d be able to learn a lot from pushing myself like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s true. But it’s also not something you’re likely to do as part of Spring Troupe, either. Maybe you could take on a guest role with another company? I could ask around, if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really have the time for that,” he says, and the light in Tasuku’s eyes seems to dim a little. He corrects himself. “Well, maybe the next time I take annual leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’d be a good idea. Not just because it’d let you try acting in a different genre of play, but because different troupes have different approaches to things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll think about it. But for now, we should finish changing these lights before Matsukawa shows up for real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That makes reality filter back in: that they’re not at leisure, wasting a Saturday in each other’s company. That they’re here, together, only because they have a job to do. In all honesty, Chikage’s not entirely sure whose benefit he’s saying that for. Tasuku steps back and works the knots out of his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. And while you do that, I should message Furuichi and organise something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like a plan,” Chikage says. And he does want to help Azuma, really. Because as much as his appearance has dredged up all manner of things, he’s someone who matters to Chikage, too. “But before you do that, help me move the ladder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>four.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>They manage to organise a drinking party with Sakyo for that night, even on such short notice, starting around nine. Chikage shows up to room 204 ten minutes early, with an offering of craft beer and rice crackers. Out of deference to his drinking buddies, or just to the fact he’s supposed to be serious about this, only some of the crackers are spicy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Tasuku lets him in, it’s clear there’s something on his mind. He looks freshly showered, which means he’s probably just gone for a run. But he’s still full of restless energy, and when he closes the door behind them, he immediately breaks off and starts pacing around the room. Chikage chooses not to comment on that, and perches on the sofa instead. As well as Tasuku’s slight clutter, there are some glasses and an unopened packet of jerky already on the coffee table, next to a mostly-full bottle of sake; Azuma’s contribution to their cause, or else a thank-you gift. Chikage sets the beer down next to it, leans back against the couch, and watches Tasuku fret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No Tsumugi tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He told me he had plans for a moon-viewing party with Ikaruga. But I would’ve asked him to leave anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because Azuma entrusted this to </span>
  <em>
    <span>us.</span></em><span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sounds very serious about it, even by his standards. Chikage folds his hands into each other. “I understand, and I feel the same. Even though this isn’t the kind of thing we usually get asked to fix, our pride is still on the line, isn’t it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t about pride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he allows, “that’s true. I shouldn’t have put it that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re fine. I’m just stressed. I want to help, and I want to get this right.” Tasuku hooks a sharp turn and paces back around. “Should we make a plan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could, but it’ll need to be open to improvisation. I don’t think Sakyo is terribly unpredictable, but even so, we can’t necessarily tell how he’ll react to things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s true. But I’d still feel better for having a strategy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right.” Chikage watches Tasuku finish another loop of the room, crosses his legs at the ankles. “We don’t want to let Sakyo have more than one drink before talking about Azuma. We’re using alcohol as an excuse to get together, not a way to manipulate him into reconciling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agreed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, at the same time, we don’t want him to think we only invited him to talk about this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s start out treating it like an ordinary get-together. But at some point, I can broach that topic, and get him to start talking. And you can deliver some kind of finisher, whatever that might be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good.” Tasuku’s frown has loosened a little, but he still looks troubled. “I know I’m overthinking this, and things will probably turn out fine. But it’s hard to stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re only winding yourself up further by pacing, Tasuku. Can I offer you a beer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wouldn’t be right. We shouldn’t start drinking without Furuichi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If your options are being slightly rude or wearing a groove in the floor, maybe you should choose the first. I’m sure Sakyo would understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s your choice in the end. I just thought I’d suggest it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage watches as Tasuku loops back around Tsumugi’s side of the room, passing the ladder to his bed and the shelf full of pot plants, and towards the couch again. But then he breaks sharply out of rhythm, comes to a heavy stop around the point where his side of the room meets Tsumugi’s. Not that slowing down seems to have robbed him of any of his nervous energy, though, considering he still seems to be buzzing under his skin. “No, you’re right. I won’t be any use like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say that, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… also true.” He rubs at his eyes. “I think I should have that drink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku sits heavily on the other end of the couch, which dips a little from the impact. Oddly aware of that presence in his peripheral vision, a dark and solid blur, Chikage reaches for the craft beer he’d brought. The cans are still cold enough that they’re slightly moist to the touch; he’d faced an uphill battle trying to store the six-pack in Chigasaki’s mini-fridge earlier, competing for space amongst cans of sugary sodas and his roommate’s token protests. It’s good to know that his energy hadn’t been wasted on that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even this afternoon feels a long way away from here. Chikage liberates a beer from the packaging, and his fingers smudge the layer of condensation beaded on the metal. He silently holds it out. When Tasuku takes the can, dark blue with silver print, his hands overlap those marks. But he doesn’t drink from it yet, waiting with his eyes on Chikage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheers,” says Chikage, once the stalemate has stretched on long enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not drinking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku’s brow furrows. “It’s definitely not right if I start before both of you, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Chikage says, a little more firmly. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku watches him a moment longer, then exhales. “Cheers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cracks the tab and drinks. Chikage tries not to look at him, but there’s precious little else to do. When Tasuku finally lowers the can, there are traces of moisture still clinging to his lips, shining dully in the room’s warm light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he says suddenly. “I’m not a good host.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What brought that on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t want to drink. And it can’t have been fun watching me pace around, overthinking this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not drinking because I don’t feel like it yet, and either way, I’ve been here for all of five minutes. That’s a premature call, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku sets his drink on the table with a hollow, metallic sound. Then he buries his face in his hands. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room abruptly feels much, much smaller. Because despite Azuma’s faith in the illustrious Mankai Repair Club, neither of them are good at this, and Chikage is still the weaker link. He fights the urge to shift in his seat. And even though Tasuku’s stress is probably about Sakyo, about Azuma; Chikage can’t shake the feeling that, maybe, Tasuku might be plagued by the same thing that’s started to come over him lately too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s a knock on the door before he can say anything, and he’s ashamed to find himself a little relieved. Tasuku drops his hands immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” Chikage asks in an undertone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku stands up and goes to answer it. When he returns, he’s trailed by Sakyo, in a dark turtleneck over slacks, and with a bottle of shochu under one of his arms. Chikage has learned, over time and from observation, that Sakyo tends to favour spirits over things like beer and wine; and some of that definitely comes down to personal taste, but the rest is probably a habit he’s developed from always drinking with Azuma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Utsuki,” he says. “Good evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakyo’s eyes, skimming over the low table, land on the open beer can. “You two have already started?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only me,” Chikage says. “I bought a different kind of beer than usual today, and I was interested in trying it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t even a good lie, let alone an important one. Behind Sakyo, Tasuku’s eyebrows draw together, in something that doesn’t read as either confusion or anger. Chikage distracts himself by taking a sip of Tasuku’s drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is it?” Sakyo asks, after what feels like a small eternity. “Worth starting early, I hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not bad. Although, to be honest, I think I was hoping it’d be more bitter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll bring a chair over,” Tasuku interrupts, apparently having found his balance again. “Why don’t you take a seat, Furuichi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakyo grunts and then moves to sit. Tasuku peels away, off to fetch Tsumugi’s desk chair; Chikage, stepping up to the role of host, turns towards their guest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you drinking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shochu. If you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage reaches for a cup, and then for the bottle. It’s made of a rich dark brown glass, with a white label, and the calligraphy-style font declares it to be a ten-year-old vintage. Not entirely to his own taste, but very much to Sakyo’s. Then he uncaps it and pours. Even when Tasuku returns in the corner of his vision, and sets down the chair, he keeps his eyes on the bottle. The shochu is clear as water, but it smells faintly sweet. When he finally finishes pouring, and straightens up the bottle, the inside of Sakyo’s cup looks like the placid surface of a lake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Utsuki,” Tasuku says, seated across from him. “Can you pass me a beer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it had been anyone else asking, Chikage might have taken this moment, this deliberate deja vu, as an indication of being in on the joke. But this is Tasuku; Tasuku, who might still be annoyed at him for telling that meaningless lie, and whose expression is oddly and uncharacteristically closed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hands another can over. Again, Tasuku’s fingers smudge over the places where his own had been. Chikage tears his gaze away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he says. “Shall we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They toast. Chikage, despite his better judgment, finds himself seeking eye contact with Tasuku over the top of his open beer; but Tasuku is looking at Sakyo, out of the loop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for having me,” Sakyo says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for coming, even on such short notice,” says Chikage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the least I could do. I’ve been neglecting these get-togethers lately. But… we aren’t waiting for anyone else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, really, Sakyo could be referring to any of the adults in the dorm. Tsumugi, for instance. Or Chigasaki, who can sometimes be lured away from his games by the promise of free alcohol, and not having to be the troupe ATM for once. Or Hisoka or Homare or Guy, who all live metres away and tend to be free on weekend evenings. Or even Kazunari, who’s been a regular guest at these events since turning twenty, to the gentle amusement of the older members with better alcohol tolerances. But it’s fairly obvious that Sakyo means someone in particular. Because Mankai drinking parties are Azuma’s natural habitat, and it’s rare to find one going on without him. Maybe suspiciously so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, even if it’s disingenuous to keep going under the pretense of normalcy, it’s also too early in the night to bring Azuma up. They haven’t laid the groundwork, haven’t worn down Sakyo’s reflexive grouchiness and gotten him to a place where he might be honest. And the irony of that isn’t lost on Chikage, not by a long shot, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t,” Tasuku says, hesitation betraying the fact he’s clearly in agreement. “It’s just us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that an issue?” Chikage asks, slightly less willing to leave it alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakyo frowns. “Of course not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right. In that case, Tasuku was just telling me about a play he saw last week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that, the moment of tension is over. So the three of them get caught up talking about acting, because of course they do. Both Tasuku and Sakyo are serious about theatre when they’re sober, and alcohol only seems to make them more passionate about it. But it’s easier for Chikage to keep up with these things than it used to be, as well. They go from talking about Veludo Way’s hottest new melodrama, to the troupe responsible for it, to other kinds of melodramas, to a troupe that’s trying to salvage a kabuki play that’s long since fallen out of favour, and on to something else. And when the other two finally start to run out of steam on their latest topic of conversation – the most recent production by a troupe that’s famous for always performing in the round, which he hasn’t had time to go and see himself – and Chikage’s most of the way through his second beer, he steps neatly in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be honest, there’s something we wanted to ask you about. Nothing bad, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakyo’s mouth thins, but he also doesn’t immediately shoot that down. “All right. What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, Azuma came to speak with us today. He was worried he’d upset you, and asked us if we’d think about – well, not mediating, exactly. But taking some step to help smooth things over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that’s what this is about. I should have suspected as much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a little unfair, don’t you think? True, we may have had a motive, but it was hardly our only one. I always value your thoughts on theatre, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t talk around the point, Utsuki. What did Yukishiro tell you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing incriminating. He didn’t tell us any details of what he said to you, if that helps. Only that he was sure it had hurt you, and that it was bothering him, and that he didn’t feel like it was his place to make the first move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just like Yukishiro,” Sakyo says. His tone is as dry as ever, but it’s not harsh. “Completely indirect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s trying,” says Tasuku. He sits forward in his chair. And there’s something strange in his voice, almost jagged, that’s difficult to pin down. “Even if he didn’t go directly to you, this is proof he cares.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t here to pressure you to make up, especially if he did upset you. But he wanted us to say something. Because it’s been on his mind, and because he didn’t know how to himself. That should matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the kind of finisher that might work, might nudge Sakyo into taking action, but only because it’s coming from Tasuku; from someone who knows Azuma well, and so transparently believes that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> matter. Chikage re-folds his hands in his lap, as much as they itch to reach for his drink, and waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, Sakyo sighs and rubs at his temples. “This is ridiculous. Not your attempt to help, in and of itself, but this broken telephone kind of intervention. I should be better than to need something like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It happens to everyone sometimes,” Chikage says, more sincere than not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earns a click of the tongue from Sakyo, at least, but then he drains his cup and stands. “I appreciate the encouragement. But I should go speak to Yukishiro, as soon as I possibly can.” He scoops his bottle of shochu back up, then skewers them with his gaze. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck,” Chikage says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I’ll need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Famous last words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Utsuki,” Tasuku cuts in, “that isn’t helpful. And Furuichi, it’ll be fine. Azuma wants to move past this at least as much as you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. But we can only hope.” Sakyo stands up straight, squares his shoulders. “Well. Have a pleasant rest of the evening, both of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves with as little ceremony as he had arrived. In the quiet after the noise of the door closing behind him, neither of them moves. Chikage toys with the ring on his can, wiggling it back and forth, suddenly much more interested in a flimsy piece of metal than in the fact he can feel Tasuku’s eyes on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mentally, he takes stock of the food and drinks scattered around the coffee table. There are still two beers left, plus most of Azuma’s sake, plus half the packet of rice crackers. Enough that there’s no need to wind down their drinking party just yet, not at all. And yet – what are Tasuku’s expectations from here? Because Chikage isn’t even sure of his own, no matter how much he makes himself adjust downwards. Maybe Tasuku expects nothing; or maybe he expects them to go on as they have, perfectly platonic; or maybe he expects a night spent shuffling closer and closer to each other on the couch, finishing the craft beer and moving onto the sake, and pretending there isn’t one logical outcome for two people drinking alone together. At least when those two people are Chikage and Tasuku, and when Tasuku keeps looking at him so unguardedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage clears his throat. It doesn’t quite dislodge the hopes that are stuck there, but maybe he can pretend it’s close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to leave you to clean up, but I should head off, too. There’s a lot I have left to do tonight, unfortunately. But you can keep the beer as compensation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lie, of course: he makes it a point to try and keep his schedule free on weekends, for the sake of being able to interact with people at the dorms, who he might otherwise miss. And even though there’s barely any alcohol in his system, that’s still enough for him to want to avoid doing any work that matters. But it’s still stupid that part of him wants Tasuku to ask him to stay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right. Then at least let me walk you back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That startles a laugh out of Chikage, even though he definitely hasn’t had enough to drink to blame it on the alcohol. “My room is down one flight of stairs, Tasuku. I think I’m sober enough to manage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. But I’d like to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He already knows that arguing would be pointless; and what’s the harm in caving here, just a little more, when he’s already caved so much? At last, he spares half a shrug. “Well, suit yourself. It’s your evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. One thing, though. Sorry, but can you head out first? I’ll be a moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Chikage toes on his shoes, steps outside, and decides not to think about how he’s been given a window of opportunity to go on ahead. The air outside is pleasantly bracing, crisp with autumn. Tasuku follows maybe thirty seconds later, with the addition of a light jacket and sneakers, and doesn’t bother to lock the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dorm is eerily silent for a Saturday night. The courtyard is empty, but the door leading to the lounge is slightly open, and the sounds of lively conversation drift out from within. Chikage sneaks a glance down the hall, at where Azuma’s room is. But the only hint of what may have happened to Sakyo is that the light behind the door is on, and that Guy is out on the walkway, and that nothing seems to have caught on fire yet, and then he realises that Tasuku is waiting for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku hangs back and lets him take the stairs first. It’s not a chivalry thing as much as it is a Tasuku thing, which is about the only reason Chikage can let himself accept it. They descend to the ground floor together, footsteps out of rhythm, too loud in the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage leads the way to room 103, conscious of Tasuku’s presence at his back. It simultaneously feels like too long and too short a journey. And then he comes to a stop, and Tasuku does as well. Maybe a metre apart, one on each side of the door, Chikage closer to the Autumn rooms and Tasuku closer to the stairs. There’s something familiar about it, too. Loitering like this outside his room again, a reprise of a previous scene, and maybe he’s the only one who cares to remember which. In the dark, the grass of the courtyard is almost blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage waits a few moments longer, since the cue here is obvious; but Tasuku doesn’t leave. Instead, he shuffles his feet, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. And it doesn’t seem like he’s looking for an escape route, either. Which means that either he has something to say, or he’s content to just linger here, in this strange atmosphere. Decidedly unusual. And either way, as petty and self-sabotaging as it is, Chikage wishes he’d just hurry up and leave. Because it’s either that or being allowed to maintain this false hope, and he knows where that road leads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glances at his room. Although the light outside is off, there’s still light coming from under the door; of course Chigasaki is still awake, at this hour on a weekend, but the telltale sound of his voice is strangely absent. Not streaming, then. But Chikage would almost welcome the distraction, because it would break whatever this mood is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he says, and pushes his glasses up his nose. “You’ve seen me back safely, haven’t you. And, like I said, I’ll be busy for the rest of the evening. So I can’t hang around any longer, sadly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he doesn’t get an answer. And then, in the absence of any other excuse, there’s nowhere left to look but at Tasuku; and at the cloudless night beyond. The moon is visible in its entirety over the dormitory roof, almost perfectly round. Its light strikes Tasuku from behind, half his face silvered by it, the rest cast in a perfect shadow. Like he too might be made of ice and stone, wholly unreachable. But he’s clearly chewing on something, expression uncertain, and then he blurts it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why did you cover for me with Sakyo?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you angry about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. I think I’m just confused, mostly. It wasn’t worth the lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it probably wasn’t. Sakyo knows them both decently well, and wouldn’t really have been offended if Tasuku had told the truth; certainly not as offended as if he’d managed to catch Chikage in a pointless lie. And the stakes had been so minor either way. But, still – </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s cold out,” Chikage says instead, and pretends to start searching for his keys. Because breaking things has always been instinctive to him, running parallel to his nature, and because stitching them together was a skill he’d had to learn. Not at all like Tasuku, born lucky enough to have those the other way around. “Don’t let me keep you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Tasuku says, and then, after a pause: “You’re right. Have a good night, Utsuki.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, in the end, maybe that’s all there is. Chikage retrieves his ring of keys, rifles through them to the one that opens his front door. When he angles it just so, when the moon catches along its ridges, the key’s teeth shine like the serrated edge of a knife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>five.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage is idling around the courtyard in the evening around two weeks later, kicked out of his room while Chigasaki streams the newest expansion of his favourite MMO, when Hisoka finds him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, more accurately: he’s just planted himself in one of the garden chairs, and is trying to work out what he feels like doing with his night, when he hears Hisoka’s almost-silent gait heading in his direction. That makes him glance up, although begrudgingly. And when he meets Hisoka’s eyes, there’s that tiny, frozen moment which always occurs when one of them isn’t expecting to be seen by the other. But Hisoka doesn’t flinch. He’s carrying something close to his chest, dark and shapeless in the twilight, and his mouth purses a little in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…Chikage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s all the warning he gets before Hisoka flings that something at him, lightning-quick. Chikage snatches it out of the air before it can make impact, before he’s even processed what the missile actually is, operating on old reflex; but it’s just a balled-up pair of track pants, with a small rip in one knee. He skewers Hisoka with his least impressed look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They tore during practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not your maidservant, and I’m not going to coddle you. Fix it yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you can’t.” Chikage sighs. “If you’re going to ask for unreasonable things, at least bring me the tools to do them. Even you should be able to manage that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hisoka blinks at him. He can at least recognise it as one of those blinks which means </span>
  <em>
    <span>well, okay,</span>
  </em>
  <span> rather than anything actively hostile; but there’s a curious undercurrent to it which he doesn’t like at all, and that makes him itch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t.” Another blink. “I’m not sure where to find a needle and thread, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As with every interaction he has with Hisoka, this is probably one part him being obnoxious, one part him being genuine, and an undefined quantity of trying to rebuild bridges. Chikage blows a breath out through his teeth as he thinks. The obvious answer is that he has a tiny sewing kit back in his room, tucked into his suitcase, with a mostly-full bobbin of thread; but he’s learned that there are both productive and unproductive ways to annoy Chigasaki, and barging in on him during a stream definitely falls into the second category. And Omi and Yuki, the two most likely people to have their own supplies, are out on an errand and hard at work on the costumes for Mankai’s next play, respectively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s another option, too. Not a particularly likely one, granted, but an option nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Follow me, then,” he says. “Or don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Chikage stands, and breaks off towards the stairwell. After a second, Hisoka’s quiet footfalls start up behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes the stairs two at a time, strides down the second-floor walkway. The light is on in room 204, and – by some stroke of luck – it’s Tasuku who answers when they knock. He’s dressed to exercise, as he often is, but it’s difficult to tell if he’s on his way out or if he’s just gotten home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening,” Chikage says, suddenly self-conscious. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now is fine. What do you need, Utsuki?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you happen to own a sewing kit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku doesn’t respond for a moment, and takes the pair of them in. Chikage has to fight the urge to tense up; because maybe Tasuku is still thinking about the white lie Chikage told about his beer, even though it’s been a fortnight, and maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s still angry, or maybe he never was. Maybe it’s not even on his mind at all. Because Tasuku is at once both more and less straightforward than he seems, still waters with an unexpected depth, and Chikage’s still trying to work out if he’s supposed to have brought an oxygen tank for this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But all Tasuku says is, “I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a ridiculous question. Sorry for the interruption, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologise. And Tsumugi might have one, anyway. Hold on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku disappears back into his room. Chikage, suddenly very interested in the wood of the doorframe, ignores the way Hisoka’s gaze is boring into the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because he’s overstepped. Because trying to salvage his relationship with Hisoka means maintaining a suitable distance, maintained through unspoken agreement; on the shared knowledge that, while most of Mankai falls into a grey area, there are still things at the dorms which are Chikage’s, and things at the dorms which are Hisoka’s. The spices in the pantry are Chikage’s; the marshmallows in the pantry are Hisoka’s. The chair facing the door in the upstairs lounge is Chikage’s; the bench in the courtyard is Hisoka’s. Spring Troupe is Chikage’s; Winter Troupe is Hisoka’s. And Tasuku is definitely Hisoka’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would probably be fine if he and Tasuku were friends, like he’d told Homare back when he needed his watch fixed. Hisoka has friends in Spring Troupe, after all, and that’s more or less fine. But Chikage’s increasingly less sure if that’s how he and Tasuku stand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for the wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku’s voice cuts into his thoughts. He’s holding out a clear plastic case; there’s a pattern of flowers on the lid, in white and blue, but a selection of needles and various colours of thread are still visible inside. Chikage takes it from him, turning it over so he can take stock of what’s there and mentally pick out his tools.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it. Thank you for the help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku nods, but he doesn’t go back into his room right away. His eyes are still fixed on the sewing kit, and even though his expression is neutral, it’s clear enough to Chikage what he’s thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mind if I come with? I could use the break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hisoka is definitely still staring at the pair of them. Chikage smiles, somewhere between sharp and sincere. “No. I don’t mind at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku steps out and shuts the door behind him. “Where were you thinking of doing this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here should be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Chikage takes a seat against the wall, positioning himself to get the best light possible for his work. Tasuku sits opposite, leaning back against the railing, legs folded loosely in front of him. Hisoka lies down in the middle of the walkway and goes to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sewing kit strikes Chikage, somehow, as being very Tsumugi. It clearly sees a decent amount of use, considering it’s missing a needle and the bobbins all have different amounts of thread; but everything inside it is lined up neatly. He picks out a decent-sized needle and a spool of black thread, along with a tiny pair of scissors. When he looks up from his selections, it’s to find Tasuku watching him, curiosity in those dark eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can sew?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. I know how to mend things, but I’d be hard-pressed to do anything more significant than this. I take it you can’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku’s eyes flit elsewhere in the way which means he’s embarrassed, and doubly embarrassed for his embarrassment. “Not at all. My mother tried to teach me before I went to uni, but I bounced off it. I had a hard time even setting up the needle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can fix the fiddly clockwork of an old watch, but you can’t manage a needle and thread?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make fun of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Chikage says, and means it. “Want me to teach you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now. That sleepyhead will complain if I take too long, but the offer stands. Call it repayment for teaching me how to fix Homare’s watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku frowns a little. “You don’t owe me anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that. But I’d still like to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t get an answer right away, so Chikage ducks his head and gets to threading the needle. The rip in Hisoka’s pants is both fairly straight and fairly small, which means it’s well-suited to the kind of stitch he’s most familiar with. He places the bobbin next to the tear, measures out a piece of thread maybe three times as long, and snips it neatly. Then he feeds it through the eye of the needle he’s chosen, and ties it off. When he lets himself look up, Tasuku’s eyes are on his hands, where the thread rests against his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, I’ll take you up on that offer. I’m looking forward to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ll look forward to it, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that established, he gets back down to business, feeding the needle into the fabric at the base of the rip. Chikage makes the quickest work he can of sewing it up, even with the fact he can feel eyes on him. But he falls into a comfortable rhythm, starting with the left side and then the right, always working parallel to the legs; a simple ladder stitch. Hisoka’s soft breathing drifts down the walkway, interspersed sometimes with the tiny noises he makes in his sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Left, then right. And then he’s reached the top of the tear. He pushes the needle down through the fabric, through the inner lining, unexpectedly soft under his hands. Because the rip is over the knee, he has to slide his arm into the pant leg, all the way up to his elbow, to grab the needle again. Working mostly by feel, he ties the thread into a knot. And when he pulls at it, the stitches fold in and under, leaving only a thin crease behind. He ties it off once more, for good measure, and trims the excess with the kit’s tiny scissors; and then he’s done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls gently at the fabric once more, just to test it. It’s not the neatest he’s ever done, because he’s sorely out of practice, and it doesn’t look quite as good as new, but it holds. Provided Hisoka doesn’t put it under too much strain, it should last for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>August would have done a cleaner job of those stitches. He always </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been the best of them at fine, delicate work; because he had been a scientist, or because he’d had the most practice at it, or because he had possessed an aptitude for making things better that had always been absent in Chikage. But even though Chikage is only himself, he’s still managed to leave this tear in better condition than he had found it. And, maybe, that’s enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He returns the needle, thread, and scissors to their tiny plastic case. But after he hands it back to Tasuku, he finds himself at a sudden loss. Because with his task done, with the tear fixed and with Hisoka still snoring quietly down the corridor, Tasuku would have every right to leave; but Tasuku isn’t going anywhere, and it doesn’t feel anything like the last time this happened. Chikage clears his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all done, then. Thank Tsumugi for me. And thank you for helping, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was all you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were here.” A terrible, vulnerable admission, even if it’s couched in his usual frivolity. But Tasuku either doesn’t pick up on it, or doesn’t want to comment. Chikage bulls on. “When would be good for me to repay the favour?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure yet. Whether or not I’m free next week depends if I decide to take a guest role I’ve been offered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you at liberty to discuss it, or have they already got you under a non-disclosure agreement?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very funny. But I’m torn because I like the troupe, but they’re doing a Shakespeare play this time. One of his tragedies. And I know I could learn a lot by working with them, and I don’t have anything against the classics, but I’m in the mood to do something fresher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That seems reasonable. And even if you turn that troupe down, you might still get another chance in the future. Surely there’s room to negotiate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like to say no to things, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage can’t quite help the amused sound that slips from him. “I’m aware.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still, you’re right. I have more than two options here. So I should think about it more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that what you were taking a break from, when I came to find you? Thinking this over?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Partly. I mostly needed to get away for a while, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And? Did this serve that purpose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so. Thanks, Utsuki.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now who’s thanking who for doing nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like you said. You were here.” Tasuku stands and stretches. His shadow looms over Chikage, edges fuzzy in the light. “Although I should head back. I have an early morning tomorrow, and a lot to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem. Let me know what you decide.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do that. See you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage watches Tasuku head back down the hall, until he disappears into his room. And when he turns his attention back to his immediate surroundings, it’s to find Hisoka awake, inspecting him through a single narrowed eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tasuku has bad taste.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re hardly a catch either,” Chikage says, mostly because it doesn’t betray how he feels about the fact that someone else thinks Tasuku might be interested. “So you don’t get to pass judgment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he’s bad at protecting himself. Not because he’s normal, but because he’s kind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to try anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You’re really stupid, Chikage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care what you think. And you should at least pretend to be grateful that I mended your clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. It’s done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now who’s the one being stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give them back, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage is glad to oblige. Hisoka scrutinises the stitching through one narrowed eye, with the suspicious gaze of someone who doesn’t know anything about needlework. Then he flips the leg of his pants inside-out, and peers at it again from that angle, face too close to the fabric. His nose scrunches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well? Does it pass muster?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your stitches are messy,” Hisoka says, and then: “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do it yourself next time,” Chikage replies, but there’s no heat in it at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>and one.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that week, apropos of exactly nothing, Tasuku turns up at his door. Even though it’s not a particularly cold night, his hands are buried deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s something I want you to see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage doesn’t let the surprise show on his face, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t surprising. Partly because of the late hour, because it’s already eleven, and Tasuku is a chronic early bird. But mostly because neither of them are really the type to seek others out, not unless they need something; and from Tasuku’s demeanour, the awkward shuffle he does as he waits, this can’t be a business visit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I at least get a hint?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No hints. But we’re going out, so you should get a jacket. We might be a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right. One moment, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swings the door mostly closed and paces over to his wardrobe, passing Chigasaki curled up on the sofa with his phone. Skimming through the clothes inside, he winds up deliberating between his usual blue jacket, and a double-breasted coat he usually only breaks out in the dead of winter. Both of them would have their advantages, but neither feels quite right. So in the end, driven by a suspicion that’s mostly a hope, he digs through his suitcase and finds an old leather jacket of his own. In hindsight, he doesn’t even know what had possessed him to keep it. But for tonight, if his hunch is correct, he’s glad something had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls it on, spares himself a glance in the mirror. It’s a relief to see it still mostly fits, even if it makes him look less like Utsuki Chikage and more like the nameless, sullen boy he’d been when he’d bought it. Behind him, he can feel Chigasaki’s eyes boring into him from his position on the couch. And when Chikage refuses to acknowledge that, pacing over to the door and toeing on his shoes, Chigasaki very pointedly clears his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, senpai. Don’t ignore me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, right. You heading out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess things are pretty serious with you two, huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re friends, Chigasaki. I don’t know where you got the impression that we aren’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, senpai, I’ve been paying attention. Not like I’m gonna grill you if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> serious, though. It’s not really here or there to me.” Chigasaki prods one of his earbuds back in, apparently satisfied. “Well, have fun. And if you need someone to give Tasuku a shovel talk in the future, choose somebody else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your support is touching.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I told you to enjoy yourself. I’m backing you up on this. Now hurry up and get out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Chigasaki turns his full attention to his phone. Even from across the room, the game he’s playing is loud enough that Chikage can hear the beat of a song starting up, tinny and distorted through his earbuds. Typical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knocked over your limited-edition Gwen figure yesterday,” Chikage says, partly to see if he’s still paying attention, but mostly to try regain some sense of equilibrium. And when that doesn’t get any response, he makes sure he has all his things and heads out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a surprisingly mild night for this late in autumn, but he’s still grateful to be wearing a thicker jacket than usual, and the first thing he does when he steps outside is zip it partway closed. Tasuku’s waiting out in the courtyard, buzzing with the same contained but restless energy. He looks Chikage up and down briefly, nods, then turns and paces off. Chikage falls easily into step, happy to trust his sense of direction; but it’s Tasuku who speaks first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a good jacket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reconsidering your position on my rebellious phase?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. You made the right choice by wearing it, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucky guess.” But then, since Tasuku is someone who makes him want to be honest, he adds: “Actually, I just followed your lead. Since you’re obviously dressed for whatever you’re planning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. That’s true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By now, he’s realised that they’re heading out and around the dorm; probably towards the parking lot. And there’s a conclusion he’s starting to put together, between their destination and Tasuku’s choice of outfit, but he doesn’t quite want to let himself jump to it. Not when there’s still something a little loaded in the air, and he can’t judge the depth of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then they round the corner, and there’s – a motorbike, parked right in the centre of the lot. Not one Chikage recognises as belonging to anybody in the dorm, but a sleek black model, with fold-out mirrors and yellow detailing. He glances at Tasuku out of the corner of his eye. And when he catches the slightest nod, he moves in to take a closer look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bike is years old, but it seems almost like new. No scratches in the paint. Everything in place, all the parts well-maintained. Chikage’s suddenly, absurdly grateful for the parking lot’s new floodlights, which buff up the bike’s silver pedals and darken its blacks to a kind of pure lightlessness. He makes a slow loop around it, taking everything in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her name’s the Queen Bee,” Tasuku says, from somewhere behind him. “I picked her up from my parents’ house earlier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How does she drive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Itaru had needled him, the other day, for calling his car a </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> in passing. And for once, he can admit his roommate is right: it’s an uncharacteristic bit of sentimentality. But it’s a habit he had picked up off Tasuku, and he has no desire to break it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was fine on the way over. And I know you said you don’t ride anymore, but I thought maybe you’d want to see for yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d trust me to ride?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then it seems like I’ll have to reconsider my retirement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I hoped you’d say that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku hands him a helmet, glossy and black, and a pair of gloves to match. Chikage removes his glasses, folds the arms in, and zips them safely away into a front pocket. But he can feel the weight of a gaze on him, and that makes him hesitate. When he glances over, helmet half-raised, it’s to find Tasuku studying him intently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look different without them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it a bad kind of different?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku’s eyes skate away. “Just different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All this time, Chikage’s been careful not to let himself misread things, not to give himself any grounds to overstep; but there’s nothing left to misread here. There’s no explanation that doesn’t involve catching Tasuku looking and, beyond that, there’s no part of him that doesn’t want to be seen. But he also can’t move too fast, because that will almost certainly scare Tasuku off. He selects his words carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hisoka was right. You do have bad taste.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just get ready to drive, Utsuki.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A refutation, but not a denial. Chikage tucks his smile away into his helmet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it’s the gloves, and then he can get on the motorcycle. The seat isn’t as hard as his old secondhand bike, not by a long stretch, and the mirrors only need a little adjustment; he and Tasuku are about the same height, but Tasuku’s a little shorter in the leg. Once Chikage’s gotten them aligned to his satisfaction, he looks up at his companion, who’s still idling a little nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you getting on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you’re fine with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your bike, Tasuku. I’m hardly going to leave you behind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In that case, I have a spare helmet in my car. Hold on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku extracts his keys from a pocket and goes to do that. In his absence, Chikage goes back to looking at the Queen Bee. Even though the engine’s off, he can just about feel the coiled power under his hands, waiting to take him away. He smooths a thumb along the handlebars, the feel of the grip muted by his gloves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bike dips a little as someone comes to sit behind him. Tasuku’s voice comes from very close by, muffled by his helmet. “Sorry for the wait. I’m ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku’s arms settle loosely around his waist. Chikage glances down at them, grateful for the way the helmet hides his line of sight. He keeps talking to cover his trepidation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you have a particular destination in mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. And it doesn’t matter as much as the experience, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right. Then I’ll drive, and we’ll see where we end up. Just let me know if you want to head back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes the key from Tasuku, starts the engine; catches himself grinning when it roars to life. It’s been close to a decade since he rode last, and there’s no way this is a good idea besides, but he’s come this far already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The parking lot gate opens with a press of the remote button; Chikage guns the engine as he waits, just for the pleasure of hearing it, just to let himself feel it. Then he lifts the brakes, and heads out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage starts their trip with a slow circuit around the block, just to get used to being on a bike again. His old one had already been secondhand when he had bought it, and the Queen Bee is still a fairly new model, so they respond very differently. And he needs to get used to making turns with someone riding behind him, too. He’d always ridden alone before, August too worried about safety and Hisoka too indifferent to the prospect to ever come with him, and he wouldn’t have wanted them along anyway; but even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> asked, if he had managed to get over his teenage desire to wound and be wounded by the people he’d loved, to ride together under a nameless, lonely sky, neither of those passengers would have prepared him for this. Not for handling a motorcycle with two grown men on it, and not for whatever it is he’s feeling. When he makes his second turn, still not quite used to adjusting for the extra weight, Tasuku’s grip tightens involuntarily around his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that loop, confidence mostly restored to him, he pulls away from the dorm and drives. It’s not late enough at night for the roads to be completely empty, but it’s still a far cry from the peak-hour traffic he had endured on the way home today. And he had forgotten how </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span> it is to ride a bike, especially this late in the year, and how viciously the wind tears at him. But his jacket and gloves are thick enough to divert the worst of it, and Tasuku is a warm weight at his back. And the cold doesn’t matter, not really, not when the Queen Bee takes so smoothly under his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The route Chikage chooses is a long, meandering one. It takes them from Veludo Way, southeast towards the ocean, down main roads made silent by the late hour. Past ports, clusters of lights and shipping containers in the distance; past beaches, with sand a pale, ghostly white, and the ocean an inky void that stretches away into the sky. He slows down slightly as he passes his second or third beach, under some impulse he can’t explain. Then he turns his face towards the sea, just a little, and draws salt into his lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he decides to turn back, mindful of his companion, and both unwilling and unable to tell how much time has passed, he picks a different way home. That route takes them near his old hideout, through a dimly-lit district full of warehouses. It’s strange to be passing by here, without any intention to visit, but not bad. Not that his business in this area is over, or anything. On other nights, he’ll have to return here for work, to do things he’s not proud of and can never talk about; but this time, for once, he gets to be someone just passing through, with no connection to any of this, and nothing left undone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of the warehouse district, up onto an overpass. The streetlights overhead change from yellow to a sharp blue-white. The road is straight and wide, and the speed limit feels like an invitation; the Queen Bee’s engine roars joyfully as she responds. They have to slow down, just once, because of late-night roadworks, being performed by a crew of serious men in high-visibility vests. But after that, once he’s past them, it’s back up to full speed for a little longer before he has to take a spiralling turnoff – and onto the main road that, eventually, joins up with one end of Veludo Way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that point, Chikage spares a glimpse at the fuel gauge. The needle there isn’t nudging empty, not yet, but it’s well under half, and it would only be right of him to repay the favour. There’s a gas station coming up ahead of them, so he makes a split decision. The price displayed on its signboard isn’t the cheapest he’s seen tonight, not by a decent shot, but he’ll take it under the circumstances. So he indicates left, and pulls in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world seems to resolve itself around them as he comes to a stop by one of the petrol pumps, solidifying from a blur of lights and shapes and roads, and into a concrete place. Then he kills the engine, nudges down the kickstand. His fingers are still tense around the handlebars. Behind him, Tasuku dismounts first; but even through their thick jackets, even through the chill of the evening, the heat of his arms has long since burned into Chikage’s skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this hour on a weeknight, the place is completely deserted; the store attached to the gas station is dark and unoccupied. Their only companions are a couple of moths, buzzing around the station’s dirty yellow lights, and the thick stench of petrol. The night air slices Chikage all at once when he takes off his helmet, and hangs it over one of the mirrors. His hair’s a mess, probably, sticky with sweat and askew from being pressed against his head, but he’s too self-conscious to be caught fixing it. Instead he peels his gloves off one by one, and folds them gently over the handlebars. His lungs are all salt and gasoline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing?” he asks Tasuku, who’s stomping the life back into his legs, helmet already off and balanced on his seat. “I hope that wasn’t too boring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. It wasn’t boring at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to be nice about it, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not being nice. I like motorcycles, but I don’t often get to ride on the back of one. And it’s a nice night. Besides, it seemed like you were having fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was,” he admits. “Thank you for letting me borrow your bike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not nothing, not even slightly, which is why Chikage gets his wallet out. But that makes Tasuku frown, more displeased than angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t let you pay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your bike, and you let me ride it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still. Tonight was supposed to be on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then,” Chikage says, with a daring he’s not sure he actually feels, “you can pay next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku doesn’t even comment on what that means for his supposed retirement, just lets that slide. Instead, he rolls his shoulders and stretches his legs, working out the last of the tension from being seated for so long. “All right. Do you mind if I look around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take your time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, and heads off towards the building, presumably to go inspect it. As soon as he’s gone, Chikage takes the opportunity to surreptitiously adjust his fringe. He leaves his glasses in his pocket, since he’ll have to take them back off later anyway, and goes hunting for the fuel cap. It’s exactly where he’d anticipated it to be, and where he’d taken note of it being before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He uses his card to pre-pay for gas – he briefly debates choosing the most expensive kind, but he’s already pushed his luck on that one – and fills the tank. The rumbling noise of petrol being pumped seems to occupy the whole space, a foreign sound in the night. It’s almost starting when the flow clicks off and plunges him back into silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets the nozzle back in its place on the pump, replaces the fuel cap. But, even once he’s done with all that, Tasuku hasn’t returned. He’s still poking around the deserted storefront, broad back to Chikage. From behind, he looks like a delinquent, like a stranger, in the black leather jacket which seems to broaden his hulking frame; but when he turns his head and reveals a sliver of his profile, it suddenly seems impossible for him to be anyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That runs a little too close to sentimentality for Chikage’s taste, though. And, since it’s just the two of them, he decides to stretch his legs too. But he heads off in the opposite direction, towards the road. When he comes to a stop, it’s by the large signboard with gas prices, the numbers in a muted orange. The road stretches straight out to both his left and right, as far as he can see in both directions; and the sky above it is cloudy, but unthreatening. As he watches, a lone car tears past along the highway, the bright white of its headlights fading into the red of its tail, and then into nothing. And in front of him, down below and miles out, are the lights of the city, golden and white, made shimmering and hazy with distance. Something about it gives him the sense that the world is still turning, that people are still going about their lives, but that it’s all happening very far away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as much as he’d like to linger here, at a nowhere gas station, waiting endlessly on Tasuku to return, he should rejoin that world, too. He takes a slow, deep breath of the gasoline air. Turns around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing that strikes him is that Tasuku has come back, finished with whatever it is he’s doing. He’s sitting backwards on the bike, facing towards the dark, empty highway, his eyes clear and on Chikage. He only glances away when Chikage walks over to meet him, feet loud on the concrete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tasuku says. “Sorry for making you wait. I used to work at a different branch of this chain in college, but it wasn’t self-service back then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No apology needed. Ready to head home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. There’s something I need to ask you first, Utsuki.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tasuku goes quiet for a moment, clearly sifting through his thoughts. He’s still looking mostly at the road that runs alongside the gas station, or even beyond, eyebrows forming sharp angles over distant eyes. Chikage’s hands are sweating in his pockets, too hot under the thick leather and glaring lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want from me? Because I can tell you want something, but I can’t read you at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Utsuki,” Tasuku says, and he sounds exhausted. “Please don’t do this. I really won’t know if you don’t tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage thinks. About how best to put this; how much he should push things, balancing an honest admission of his feelings with not coming on too strong. If it’s even his place to confess, even now he knows Tasuku’s been looking at him, even after all the things they’ve put back together. But things are so easy, with Tasuku. And maybe they could always be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want us to go on like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As people who keep getting more involved with each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what that means.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means that I have to say this, and I also don’t want to put any pressure on you. But… I like where we stand. I like that I’m not sure how we got to this point, except that we did. I like that we make sense to me.” Chikage blows out a breath. “And, even if some of the specifics of our relationship changed, I think we’d go on making sense together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want them to change, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want whatever it is that you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not an answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it is. I want what you want, more than I want us to figure out what we could be together, because you should be comfortable. But if I’m going to lay everything out on the table like this, there’s something else I have to say. Because, as much as I like you, I’m not a good bet in the long term. For a whole host of reasons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in Chikage’s chest twists at those words. Because Tasuku says that like he means it; like he isn’t kind, passionate, serious, practical, hard-working. Like someone wouldn’t be stupid to pass him up. Like he hasn’t looked at Chikage, with at least some idea of the things he’s done, and maybe decided to want him anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What makes you say that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m not good at relationships. And because all I have to offer you are small things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind either of those. In fact, I’m the same on both counts, so I’d be a hypocrite twice over to refuse you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t just wave this away, Utsuki. I’m serious. You don’t – you can’t really mean that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do mean it, and I’m not waving anything away. I won’t pretend to understand your particular hangups, but I understand having them, and that doesn’t change the way I feel about this. That is, about you.” Chikage clears his throat, mostly to chase away the intensity of that admission. “But we could go around in circles like this all night. You’re getting awfully caught up in logistics, and you still haven’t told me how you feel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought that was obvious. That I wouldn’t be talking about the logistics if I didn’t feel the same.” Tasuku meets his eyes firmly. “If we didn’t make sense to me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I don’t see the issue. Even if they’re tiny offerings, I’ll hold on to everything you want to give me. And I’ll give you what I can in return, even though I’ll also be starting small. And between the two of us, our small things will keep on accumulating, and they’ll add up to enough. We can make them. So what I mean is – I’ll have you, if you’ll have me. Will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All things considered, it’s not the most eloquent he’s ever been. It’s not even close. And when he’d let himself think about this moment, about maybe letting himself admit to a vulnerability he doesn’t want to cover for, he hadn’t accounted for it taking place at an abandoned gas station on a cold autumn night. But the backdrop doesn’t matter, not really. Because this honesty is the first of Chikage’s offerings, at the altar of whatever it is they could be together, and it’s an invitation for Tasuku to lay the second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Tasuku says at last, “why not. I’d like to see where we end up, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that’s a yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage has to bite down on the smile which threatens to overwhelm him. “There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Utsuki,” Tasuku says, shooting for exasperated but landing up at fond. Even under the gas station’s yellow light, there’s a clear flush creeping up his cheeks. “Don’t pretend you were unaffected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you said yes. Let me savour my victory – and, if you’ll allow it, I’d like to savour it much less far away from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re in public.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Barely,” says Chikage. But, since he doesn’t want to push it, he decides that some reconciliation is probably in order. “I’m just riling you up. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said,” Tasuku repeats, still only half looking at him, “it’s all right if you want to, a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage’s breath stutters slightly. He takes a step forward, rests one hand on Tasuku’s thigh. It’s broad, and warm, and tenses a little under his touch. But neither of them moves away. Chikage lets himself imagine he can feel Tasuku’s pulse racing, even through the thick material of his jeans; or maybe it’s just his own pulse, faster than usual, shaking through into Tasuku.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s fine. And, uh, can I…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. So Tasuku raises a hand and rests it on the back of Chikage’s neck, palm against the side of his throat, fingers brushing against hair. It’s a surprisingly delicate touch, even with the roughness of his skin. Like Chikage, with the remedy of small offerings and steady hands, might also be rebuilt into something whole. And there’s no question in Tasuku’s dark gaze; only an answer he’s long since arrived at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chikage wets his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last chance to back out,” he says. “Now or never. Otherwise… I might want to go on like this for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to change my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…You’re sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans in.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
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</p></blockquote></div></div>
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